Week Later

/Stab/

/Thud/

Zephyx stabbed the wolf in the side, his blade deep in the flesh. The beast gave out a last, mournful whine before it fell to his feet. Its light faded, the forest grew quiet with an uneasy stillness. He stood, panting, sweat trailing down his brow, his armor held together by no more than threads. Cuts and scrapes scored his body like a dark count of his fights. The cost of fighting without proper technique was beginning to tell. Each fight left him more bruised, and each win more hollow.

Week had passed since the day he was transmigrated here, and every day he had been hunting and training.

Zephyx winced at the state of his blade. The dagger itself was fine, but somehow not quite right in his hand—a poor fit for his combat style. "I should be replacing this," he muttered to himself, sheathcoming the dagger.

Pulling out a health potion from his inventory, he uncorked it and downed the contents in one gulp. The familiar warm sensation enveloped him, healing his wounds and washing away the pain. The potion worked quickly, mending torn skin and soothing aching muscles. He exhaled deeply and said, "Status."

In response, the translucent screen appeared before him.

[Status]

[Name: Zephyx / Edgar Neal]

Age: 15

[Affinity: Ice, Fire, Water, Land, Wind]

[Stats:

(Str): 20

(Agi): 25

(Sta): 23

(Int): 25]

Bloodline: ??? (Locked)

Trait(s): [Psycho], [Prodigy]

Zephyx watched his stats climb. His efforts were paying off, but at what cost? The injuries, the exhaustion, the aggravation of having to resort to brute force—it was not sustainable. He sighed, closing the screen, and focused on the task. He added the bodies of the four wolves to inventory, one by one, and they vanished into magical space. No longer procrastinating, he headed towards the city.

The city gates towered in the distance, the noise and odor of civilization a reassuring familiarity. Within, he made his way straight to the Adventurer's Guild, anticipating the deposit of his spoils. Walking towards the guild hall, he made his way to the reception desk, where the staff greeted him with smooth professionalism.

Zephyx placed the wolves' bodies on the submission table, their fur matted with blood, alongside the goblins and frobits from earlier hunts. The receptionist quickly tallied his haul, her hands moving with practiced precision. "Twenty goblins, fifteen frobits, and four wolves," she said, her voice brisk. "Wolves are fifty silver each, so your total comes to four gold and fifty silver."

She handed him a pouch of coins, and he tucked it into his storage ring without a second thought. "Thank you," he said, turning toward the training area.

He encountered her once again along the way—'Drusilly', the severe-featured woman who had been observing him during training maneuvers. A flash of something he could not quite determine passed over her face as their gazes met. Her red eyes flashed a bit more brightly, and she addressed him when he approached.

"Hey, Zephyx," she said, her gaze sweeping across his battered armor for a brief moment. There was curiosity there, and something darker that made him shiver. "Rough day?"

"Say that, I suppose," he said.

"Here to train again?" she said, her voice crisp but with a hint of something indistinguishable.

"Yeah, Drusilly," he said, the name rolling off his tongue. It was the name she had given him when they first spoke, but now he knew better. The name wasn't random—it was the same alias used by Drusilla Crimsonvale in the game when she first met the heroine. The pieces were falling into place, confirming his suspicions.

She smiled, a faint curve of her lips that carried both amusement and something far more enigmatic. "One hour, then," she said.

Zephyx nodded and went into the training room, again delving into the exercise of his affinities. Today, he was working on new combinations, testing the boundaries of what he could accomplish with fire and ice. He blended the elements together, forming them into twisting bursts of energy.

An hour later, drenched in sweat and mentally drained, he exited the training room. Drusilly was waiting for him at the entrance, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than usual. She didn't speak, but her gaze said enough. There was an intrigue there, curiosity.

Zephyx returned the key and made his way back to the inn. By the time he reached his room, exhaustion had settled into his bones. Collapsing onto the bed, he let sleep take him.

---

A knock on the window jolted Zephyx awake. Blinking into the darkness, he turned toward the source of the sound. The moonlight streaming through the glass illuminated a figure outside. Before he could react, the window slid open, and someone slipped inside.

The intruder stepped into the light, and Zephyx's breath caught in his throat. It was Drusilly—or rather, Drusilla. Her presence filled the room, commanding and unsettling.

'Is now she will take me as her disciple?' Zephyx thought.

"Drusilly," he stammered, his voice heavy with fake confusion. "What are you doing here? Why did you come in through the window?"

She smiled, but it wasn't a friendly or comforting one. It was dark, wolfish. At a flick of her wrist, her appearance altered. The over-average face she'd presented herself with before disintegrated into an unearthly beauty that belonged to another plane of existence. Her raven-black hair glistened, her blood-red eyes sparkled, and her flawless hourglass figure appeared to be almost sculpted, her curves capable of disarming even the most stone-hearted.

Observing his reaction, she smiled. "I am making you my disciple...."

With a shocked face on the outside, inside, Zephyx cried out, 'Yess finally!' but that didn't last long.

Her smile grew bigger, the darkness in her aura growing stronger. "....and my slave," she declared, her voice calm but final.

Now really shocked, he exclaimed, "Wait, what??"